


What Happens in The Vegus

by beetle



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two wild and crazy guys on Leave, in The Vegus. Well, one wild and crazy guy, and his best friend. Written for one of strickens_girl's prompts, “or just Sulu/Bones because yummy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in The Vegus

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Seriously, this franchise fell off the back of a truck. Finders keepers.  
> Notes/Warnings: Set about four years into the mission.

“Him?”  
  
  
“No.”  
  
  
“Hmm . . . her?”  
  
  
"Hmm . . . not."  
  
  
“Okay, certainly, oh,  _him_.”  
  
  
“God, no! He's probably younger than  _you_. I've never been to jail and I'm not interested in going.”  
  
  
“Scaredy-crab. Okay, vhat about  _her_?”  
  
  
“Not even if my entire crotch was on fire and she was a bowl of water.”  
  
  
“You cannot be serious!”  
  
  
“Am I wearing my serious-face?”  
  
  
Pavel squints at him for nearly a minute in the murky, iffy lighting, then clearly decides Hikaru  _is_ wearing his serious-face. “Fine, then. Vhat about the vone across the bar? Vith the green--”  
  
  
“Holy smokes, the one with the three--” Hikaru gestures covertly at her, but doesn't look again. Doesn't need to. Pavel nods, grinning that scarily lecherous grin that puts Hikaru in mind of no one so much as it does their Captain--who's currently dragging his Chief Medical Officer all over the damn space station in search of a drink, a fight, and a fuck. In that order.  
  
  
“Oh, yes.  _Her_. She has been eye-fucking us both since ve valked in. If  _you_  vill not take her to the bathroom and bring her friendly greetings from Earth, then I vill.” Pavel aims that blameless, shameless grin across the bar, and the aforementioned  _vone vith the green and the three_  no doubt continues with the eye-fucking.   
  
  
Because Pavel's got a face that makes most women and a dauntingly large number of men want to take him home and “learn him more than aught he knew.” Pavel, opportunist that he is, plays every incorrect assumption to his advantage.  
  
  
Hikaru sighs. “You're a pervert. A filthy, awful pervert, and I'm horrified that we know each other.”  
  
  
“Ah, you simply do not vant to admit that I am your hero.” Pavel's grinning again. But there's no hint of Kirkishness in sight, just good old Pasha Chekov, who's been Hikaru's best friend since the Academy. It's a relief, though at times like this, Hikaru wonders how much of the old Pavel is a mask assumed to comfort, or even connive. “But seriously, Hikaru, ve have been here for nearly an hour and there is  _no vone_  that catches your eye?”  
  
  
“Not a one. This place is a dive, and the only thing more likely to give me some gross STI than, oh, every single surface, including the ceiling, is one of the regulars.” Hikaru looks around at the eclectic mix of humans and humanoids. Tries not to make eye-contact with any one of them, though it's hard, even in the dim lighting. This place is a wall-to-wall meat-market of the worst kind, and sadly, Hikaru recognizes some Enterprise crew members among the . . . meat. “I think it says a lot about  _you_  that, of all the gin joints and speak-easys on the station, you picked The Vegus Lounge.  _Again_.”  
  
  
“It says that I am a man of keen eye and discriminating taste.” Pavel waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Hikaru rolls his eyes. “You are just too picky, is all.”  
  
  
“Yeah,  _I'm_  the one with the skewed standards. Tell yourself that, perv. Just don't ask me to come with you to Sickbay again when you turn up with another case of dick-rot.”  
  
  
“Say that a leetle louder, I am sure the Gamma Qvadrant did not hear all that.” Pavel grabs Hikaru's arm and his blue eyes dart around the bar--as if anyone in this place'd let a little thing like an STI, especially one a year gone, stop them going from taking a ride on the USS Chekov--before coming to rest on Hikaru with a glare. “Dr. M'Benga said it vas a curable, common enough malady--”  
  
  
“Yeah, if you're the Captain,” Hikaru mutters.  
  
  
“--and that I only had to take more care in the future. Vhich I have,” Pavel finishes piously, and Hikaru frees his arm, signaling the bartender for another ale. Bottled, since Hikaru doesn't trust The Vegus to sanitize even its glasses.  
  
  
“M'Benga also thought  _I_  was the one who gave you the damn thing in the first place!” And Nurse Chapel had glared at him like he was some kind of creep.  
  
  
“The doctor said no such thing,” Pavel mutters, but his eyes skitter away from Hikaru's. “Such an oweractive imagination you have, my friend!”  
  
  
“He was looking  _right at me_  when he told  _you_  to take more care in the future!” It had been mortifying and Hikaru'd been speechless; had felt like the pervert he's often accused Pavel of being. But in the year plus since that Sickbay visit, Pavel's established beyond all doubt that he doesn't need  _Hikaru Sulu_  to pervert or corrupt him. He's methodically cut a sizable swath through the single twenty-somethings on the Enterprise while Hikaru's still, after four years, got a reputation for living like a monk.  
  
  
And only recently has that reputation been belied, though not publicly, and certainly not with someone who's Hikaru's kid brother in all but blood.  
  
  
Pavel leans on the bar and slings an arm around Hikaru, nodding toward the  _vone vith the three and the green_ , who's . . . yep, still eye-fucking them. Hikaru wants desperately to take a shower, and knows he will as soon as he boards the Enterprise. Unlike Pavel, he did  _not_  get a room on-station. He'd hoped not to spend the night pub-crawling, and knew that if he did, he'd be tailing Pavel, keeping him out of trouble. Which'd probably involve them both avoiding beds.  
  
  
“Okay, Hikaru, vhat  _about_  her?” Pavel asks wistfully, and Hikaru grimaces—takes his Yridian ale and smiles, nodding his thanks to the bartender. Then he regrets the smile when the guy leers, showing a mouthful of sharp, purple teeth.  
  
  
“Pavel, I'm repressing a shudder . . . probably unsuccessfully. . . .”  
  
  
Pavel snorts. “I mean for  _me_ , Scaredy-crab.”  
  
  
“Okay, for the last time, it's Scaredy- _cat_ , not that I am—wait, for  _you_?”  
  
  
“Yes. Aaall for me, Hikaru,” Pavel agrees with incredibly disturbing satisfaction, and if he's licking his lips, Hikaru just doesn't want to know. Keeps his eyes on his booze.  
  
  
“Huh, I think if you tap that, you'll be getting the STI Lecture from Dr. M'Benga again by this time next week.”  
  
  
“I have protection. I am not  _total_  idiot,” Pavel says defensively. But when Hikaru looks up, he grins, slowly and evilly, nodding across the bar again. “Now vhat about  _him_ , for you? Four people over from the lovely lady. Mr. Green-jeans, vith the blond hair and pouty lips?”  
  
  
Not hard to spot a Troyian in this crowd of mostly-Humans, Tandarans, and Suliban. Plus he's at least six-two, solidly built, and wearing an eye-watering shade of blue that clashes with his pastel-green skin. “Um . . . still no. But he kinda looks familiar.” Not that Hikaru knows any Troyians, pouty-lipped or otherwise. Although. . . .  
  
  
More evil smirking, and Pavel is  _far_  too pleased with himself. Like Kirk, it's not unattractive on him, this smugness—there's very little that  _isn't_  attractive on Pavel. Or Kirk, for that matter—but Hikaru always has and always will prefer the sweet, open, unselfconscious smile he first saw back in the Academy. “He  _should_  look familiar. Last time ve vere at The Vegus, you found me vith him in that alcove, and--”  
  
  
“Oh,  _God_!” Hikaru closes his eyes, then whips them right back open when the scene from nearly a year ago today--moving carefully, quietly deeper into the access alcove next to the dive, worried and looking for a drunk and entirely too trusting Pavel. Then  _finding_  said Pavel plastered against a Troyian, who was plastered against the wall next to a code-locked Jeffrey's tube and encrypted access-panel, keening and gasping while Pavel fucked him and swore in at least three different languages--unrolls itself on the backs of his eyelids. It'd taken months to get that image scrubbed off his poor brain. To repress it to the point that he likely only saw it in nightmares that stayed nice and buried. “Jeez, why'd you remind me?”  
  
  
“You asked. Sort of.” Pavel shrugs unapologetically, and tips a wink the Troyian's way. The Troyian raises his glass in acknowledgement. It's filled with something as violet as he is green, and it, too, clashes with his skin. There's probably very little that doesn't. “So do not be such a prude. And try not to think of him as sloppy seconds, just as . . . hawing been taken for a test flight. And let me assure you, he vas lovely to look at  _and_  a delight to hold. Now that I've broken him--”  
  
  
“ _Do not_  finish that sentence, you twisted, devious little jerk.”  
  
  
Pavel looks wistful for a moment. “Truthfully, I am not kidding vhen I say he had the most _impressive_  muscle control I have ewer--”  
  
  
“That's it. I'm not looking at anymore bar-skanks, Pavel.” In fact, Hikaru would've walked out already, if not for the fact that he'd be leaving Pavel alone in this . . . snake-pit. “Let's just get the hell outta here. Find a coffeehouse and chill out. Maybe play chess like we used to.”  
  
  
“Chess? Pah! Hikaru, he--em . . . I vant to say Darvi?--is gorgeous, and he's  _looking right at you_ ,” Pavel says, as if this should mean something. And it does. It means Hikaru wants to leave even more than he did five minutes ago. "I know that look on his face, it means that he'll do _anything_  you vant."  
  
  
"Really?" He finishes his ale in one long swallow, then ignores the wide-eyed, slightly glazed look on Darvi's bright-green face and Pavel's bright-pink one. “Now ask me how much I care.”  
  
  
“Ai, vhy do you ewen come  _vith_  me if all you are going to do is be a prude and cock-block yourself?” Pavel demands suddenly, pacing about half a step away from the bar before hitting a wall of people. He swears and puts his hands on hips. He looks exactly like his mother, despite the tight jeans and shiny button-down shirt.  
  
  
“Listen, Pasha--” he reaches out to put his hand on Pavel's shoulder, like he's done a million times before, but Pavel shrugs his hand away.  
  
  
“It's  _Pavel_. And I vould like an answer, please.” There goes the eyebrow, and now he looks like some unholy combination of Mrs. Chekov  _and_  Spock. But he's tapping his foot a little, and that's  _all_  Pavel. He's never been able to sit still; his restless body takes after his restless mind. “Tell me  _vhy_  you are here, if not to meet somevone?”  
  
  
“Well, I'm here because of you.” Hikaru shrugs, holding out his hands in defeat. “Come on, Pavel, it's not like I could let you come to a place like this without back-up. What if something happened, like a fight, or some asshole who can't take no for an answer. . . ?”   
  
  
Pavel shakes his head, but not angrily. More like he thinks Hikaru's being completely, disappointingly dense. “Hikaru, I am almost tventy-vone years old. I have been in at least as many bars and bar-brawls as you have. I have talked my vay out of more scrapes than anyvone on Enterprise, save the Keptin. And thanks to you, I can hold my own in a fight, so is there some _other_  reason you keep coming out vith me, or . . . do you truly think there is anything at any of these bars I could not handle on my own?”  
  
  
“I . . . don't think there's anything in this  _universe_  you can't handle, Pavel,” Hikaru admits finally, and leaves his fears--any situation, even one seemingly under control could spiral into chaos, and where would Pavel be then? Where would any of them be, then? The universe is filled to  _brimming_  with things no single person could handle, and the more Pavel plays the odds, the more likely he is to meet such a thing--completely aside because Pavel needs him to. Needs room to be who he is, even if who he is someone Hikaru no longer understands. “You're an adult. Maybe I didn't realize it before now, but . . . I have complete faith in your abilities, professionally and personally. If there's something out here that you can't handle, well, I guess it's nothing  _I_  wanna meet in a dark alley, either. And mothering you for the rest of your life isn't gonna solve anything.”  
  
  
Pavel smiles, genuinely, and sunnily. Like he used to, way back when, seven years ago. “See? That vas so hard to say? That I am an adult?”  
  
  
“No, it wasn't,” Hikaru sighs, surprised that it's really  _not_  all that hard. Somewhere, deep down, he's probably recognized for awhile that though Pavel is younger than him, he's not a kid, anymore.  
  
  
Indeed, that sunny smile acquires hints of Kirkness again. And it's really not Pavel imitating Kirk, but Pavel . . . being  _himself_. Being a certain facet of himself, anyway. “I am an adult, and you are vone, too. You do not need to live wicariously through me, do you? No. And since you _clearly_  vould rather be  _anyvhere_  but here—especially if that anyvhere is Dr. McCoy's qvarters . . . vhat exactly is keeping you here?”  
  
  
Hikaru (who'd frozen, probably tellingly, at the words  _Dr. McCoy's qvarters_ ) starts to deny it, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Not that he's terribly shocked Pavel knows or has at least guessed. If anyone could bring a few disparate pieces and clues together into an accurate whole, it's Pavel.  
  
  
But Hikaru'd been so  _careful_. They  _both_  had.  
  
  
Having moved so that he's directly across from them, on the opposite side of the bar, Darvi winks, running the tip of a  _long_  tongue around the rim of his glass. Hikaru feels at least as silly as such a stunt looks.  
  
  
In the eight months of fuck-buddying/serial-monogamy he and Len have had, they've never discussed when or what to tell their friends. Nor have they discussed what the protocol is for their respective best friends figuring it out on their own. And they really should've, considering who their respective best friends  _are_. . . .  
  
  
But until he and Len have  _that_  discussion, discussing their relationship with Pavel doesn't exactly feel right, best friend or not.  
  
  
“Uh, McCoy's quarters—what? I dunno what you're talking about, man,” Hikaru says breezily, sneaking a glance at Pavel, who rolls his eyes. He looks amused, but not at all convinced.  
  
  
“Oh, really?” He leans closer to whisper in Hikaru's ear, the brush of his slightly wet lips causing a rather prolonged shiver. “Then you are going to go ower there, and chat up Darvi—doesn't he look lonely vith nothing to fellate but that glass? Poor boy--and take him outside to the access-alcove. It vill be nothing to conwince him . . . he's neither bright, nor subtle. Vithin five minutes, I expect you two vill be leaving the bar, and I doubt I shall see  _you_  until morning.”  
  
  
“ _Pavel!_  For God's sake!” Hikaru exclaims, turning red enough it might be visible even in this dark cave of a place. “Look, just because I don't wanna do . . .  _that_  with  _him_ , doesn't mean McCoy and I--”  
  
  
“Stop, Hikaru,” Pavel murmurs, and kisses one cheek, then the other, then lingers close enough that all Hikaru can see is the pale blue and inky black of irises and pupils. His hands, gentle and warm, touch Hikaru's face exactly where his lips had, and Pavel— _little Pasha Chekov_ , whose mother has all but adopted Hikaru, and even sends him credits and holiday cards, just like she sends to Pavel—is kissing him.  
  
  
_This_  is shocking, not because of the kiss itself, which is soft and  _mostly_  closed-mouth (though there  _is_  a little tongue just before Pavel breaks it) but because Hikaru is no shrinking violet, and yet . . . he no longer knows how to respond to kisses that don't come from Len.  _Especially_  when that kiss comes from someone who's his brother in every respect but the most trivial one.  
  
  
In any event, the kiss is over before he can respond, or figure out how to, and he's shivering, licking the tastes of Saurian brandy and spicy take-out off his lips. “Pavel, what  _was_  that?”  
  
  
“I have known about you two for awhile, and is okay,” Pavel says softly, and leans back. He's not smiling anymore, but he doesn't look upset, either. If Hikaru had to put a name to whatever's written on that open face, he isn't exactly sure he'd want to. “Is okay, and I am happy for you. Happy that he makes you happy. The doctor is a wery lucky man, and you . . . you should perhaps go remind him of this, instead of baby-sitting  _me_ , yes?”  
  
  
Then Pavel's gone. Making his way through the crowd, around the huge, circular bar. Probably toward the  _vone vith the green and the three_ , Hikaru knows. The pang that accompanies this thought aches distantly, like something that's sweet only because it's half-forgotten.  
  
  
Without permission from his brain, Hikaru's body steers him not after Pavel—whether Pavel wants to or not, there  _needs_  to be a conversation, and not about his relationship with Leonard McCoy—but toward the exit.  
  
  
_But maybe . . . maybe I should just let this go. Whatever feelings Pavel's dealing with, he's dealing with them on his own, and clearly wants to keep it that way. He's not a kid anymore, and I have to respect his wishes,_  Hikaru tells himself, though it doesn't sit well. A glance over his shoulder shows him that yes, Pavel's chatting up that woman, though his eyes flick once, unerringly toward Hikaru. He waggles his eyebrows again, and nods almost imperceptibly at the woman.  
  
  
And there goes that lecherous grin. Then Pavel's sliding his arm around the woman and they drift unmistakably bathroom-ward.  
  
  
_Alright then, Pasha. Just . . . be safe._  
  
  
Shaking his head, Hikaru makes his way through the shifting, shifty, scantily-clad crowd, using his elbows only when politeness doesn't move the bodies between he and--a grinning, gorgeously vapid Darvi, who seems to have misplaced his glass.  
  
  
It really  _is_  the least subtle eye-fucking anyone's ever given him. It would  _have_  to be, if Hikaru notices it. And no wonder Darvi isn't subtle: despite his height and sturdiness, he looks like he's easily ten years younger than Hikaru. His round, innocent, empty eyes are a startling orange, with pin-prick irises.  
  
  
Whatever he's on, he's on a  _lot_  of it.  
  
  
“Hello,” Darvi says in an unexpectedly deep voice, licking his lips in a way that reminds Hikaru uncomfortably of Pavel, and makes him even more eager to be gone. “What your name is being, handsome Earth-boy? I am Brisig.”  
  
  
It figures. Pavel's horrible with the names of his conquests.  
  
  
“Uh. Hi, Brisig, I'm Hikaru--” but before Hikaru can finish saying . . . whatever brilliant thing was sure to come tumbling from his lips, Brisig is in his personal space, long arms sliding around Hikaru's neck. Up close, his pastel skin is matte-smooth, his features are strong, and getting very close, very fast, and--  
  
  
\--Hikaru's got two arms- and a mouthful of Brisig. His second non-Len kiss in less than ten minutes, and Hikaru's wondering if he's been knocked into an alternate universe. One where semi-random guys he's not attracted to try to suck the enamel off his teeth.  
  
  
Indeed, Brisig kisses like someone who's been doing it for longer than Hikaru's been alive, like he enjoys being good at it, and wants to make Hikaru enjoy it, too . . . but all told, it's an impersonal sort of kiss. His breath is redolent of some too-sweet alcohol, and burnt cloves (which must be whatever narcotic he's on). All Hikaru can think is that this kiss is nothing like Pavel's, and light years from Len's. . . .  
  
  
So, he breaks the kiss and looks up into Brisig's eyes, wondering when Brisig had gotten close enough to be a) grinding against him, and b) squeezing his ass.  
  
  
“I am liking you extra much, Hikori,” he breathes, grinding against Hikaru, who doesn't even bother to correct him. “I am also having a room nearby and would like to give oral pleasure on you there all night long.”  
  
  
“Uh—gee, that's . . . flattering, but I gotta go. I have a boyfriend,” Hikaru stammers through a big, and hopefully not too horrified grin. He nods over his right shoulder when Brisig pouts. “But, uh, my friend that I was with? He should be out of the bathroom in a few minutes, and he told me he thinks you've got  _impressive_  muscle control.”  
  
  
The pout melts away from Brisig's cotton candy face like it never was, and that gorgeous, empty smile makes a dazzling reappearance. “My muscles  _are_  known throughout this sector by many men of many species.”  
  
  
“Yeeaah. Well. I think my friend'd love you to . . . give oral pleasure on him at your room. All night long, even,” Hikaru adds, and bad syntax aside, he wonders if consigning Pavel to an entire night with Brisig might just be something worse than a practical joke. Even Pavel, he of the nonexistent refractory time, can't keep Brisig's mouth full for an entire night, right? Eventually, Brisig's gonna start . . .  _talking_. . . .  
  
  
“Of course he would be liking me to give oral pleasure on him. I am Brisig.” Brisig nods with the zen of the blissfully self-involved and completely trashed. “I thank you, Hikori. I will introduce him to me in due course, though I wonder if I have seen him from some time that is before tonight. Perhaps I have pleasured him before.”  
  
  
“Perhaps you have,” Hikaru allows with a straight face, though every muscle feels like it's twitching. “Anywho, I gotta skedaddle. You have fun, and good luck!”  
  
  
“Good luck to you, as well, Hikori! Perhaps we will perform sex on each other in the future!”  
  
  
Hikaru makes his escape like every demon in Hell is after him. Manages not to laugh till the door of The Vegus closes behind him.  
  
  
Once the fit's turned into wheezy, sporadic giggles (he doesn't even care that people are staring at him like he's gone space-y in the noggin), Hikaru starts walking to Enterprise's berth and, if Kirk's gone through his usual Leave-routine faster than normal, toward his boyfriend.  
  


*

  
  
  
Hikaru half-wakes up from a sound sleep when a warm, familiar body slides into bed with him, bringing the smells of soap and toothpaste, and under those, more constant than gravity, a hint of antiseptic. He smiles.  
  
  
“Mmm, not now, baby, my boyfriend's gonna be back any minute,” he breathes, and hears a snort.  
  
  
“Very funny,” Len grumbles, rubbing his stubbly chin against Hikaru's right shoulder before kissing it. “I was tryin' not to wake ya, smartass.”  
  
  
“ _Epic_  fail, on your part. But I'm glad,” Hikaru yawns, sighing when Len spoons up behind him. Kisses his hair, and his nape, murmuring about how good he smells. “Feels nice.”  
  
  
“ _You_  feel nice--real nice.” Which is more than enough to wake Hikaru up, though the erection prodding him in the ass would've done that, too.  
  
  
“You're obviously horny . . . dare I ask how pub-crawling with Kirk went?” Hikaru opens his eyes and squints at the clock. Almost three hundred hours. Nearly four hours since he got back, took an extra scrub-y shower, brushed his teeth forty-seven times, and slid into bed, naked and hard, to wait for Len.  
  
  
And wait.  
  
  
And wait.  
  
  
And wait some more, until the computer ran out of knock-knock jokes, and he'd dozed off.  
  
  
_Sometimes,_  Hikaru thinks,  _I really hate Jim Kirk._  
  
  
“Well,” Len starts, heaving a sigh. The tip of his nose is cool against Hikaru's shoulder-blade. “Long story short, we drank too much, got into a bit of a donnybrook with a couple of equally drunk Antarans, then we all of us ended up at the same strip-club, how's  _that_  for irony? And . . . well, Jim wound up giving me a lapdance--”  
  
  
“I see." It's really not that Hikaru's jealous. Not exactly. It's just that the thought of another man's ass-- _any_  other man's ass, in Len's lap makes Hikaru see shades of red he didn't even know existed. "Tell me, will you visit me when I've been put  _under_  a military prison for murdering your best friend, who also happens to be the savior of the Federation?”  
  
  
“Aw, hush, darlin'. You know good an' well it's just Jim bein' Jim. An' anyway, he only did it because the strip-club wasn't unisex, and he thought I looked . . . 'bored, an' lonely.'”  
  
  
“Really? Wow, what a sweetheart, Jim is. In fact, we should all have a friend like Jim,” Hikaru says flatly, and Len squeezes him close, until most of that red-rage tension melts away. "Stop manipulating me with cuddles, Len. That's dirty pool."  
  
  
“But I  _like_  cuddlin' you, and I like it when you get jealous. Makes me feel all  _pretty._ ” When Hikaru laughs, only half willingly, Len nibbles his ear. “And how was your evening with the whiz-kid?”  
  
  
“Boring. I only got kissed by two guys.”  
  
  
“Only two? Damn, you must be slippin' in your old age,” is all Len says, then nips biting kisses from Hikaru's shoulder, down his arm. He doesn't so much as tense up, and Hikaru is once again struck by the fact that Leonard McCoy is a much more sanguine man than most of the crew will ever get to see. One who's prone neither to jealousy, nor drama, yet able to deal calmly with both when they're in his vicinity. Well, calmly when either state is still within the bounds of what most would consider reasonable.  
  
  
So, how he puts up with _Kirk's_ drama is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma. Though if Kirk's redeeming qualities are half as redeemable as Pavel's . . . love is probably making Len not blind to, but willing to overlook a literal mountain of flaws.  
  
  
“Pavel has the worst taste in bars, Len. He always picks gross, skanky ones that are filled with gross, skanky people who'll kiss complete strangers and invite them home. It's like that shy, sweet kid I used to know turned into a raging sex-monster when my back was turned,” Hikaru adds miserably, leaving out that said sex-monster not only kissed him but may, possibly, have feelings for him.  
  
  
Len already doesn't approve of Pavel, not entirely, so what he doesn't know won't give him some kind of weird, Pavel-related complex. Or a weird, Pavel-related aneurysm.  
  
  
“Well, havin' a best friend that likes dive bars, women and men of negotiable virtue, and has to sometimes be goddamned  _dragged_ , flailing and bleeding, out of fights, ain't for the faint of heart. Or the faint of stomach,” Len muses tiredly, his hand sweeping up and down Hikaru's chest. “But I know you're up to the challenge, baby. You're brave, and strong, and smart. And so. Very.  _Sexy_.”  
  
  
“Hah! And you're  _so very_  obvious.” Hikaru rolls his eyes, but he's grinning, and already hard. Something Len will discover in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .  _now_. . . .  
  
  
“ _You're_  up.”  
  
  
“And have been since I got in four hours ago,” Hikaru says pointedly, and Len whistles.  
  
  
“Four hours? Poor baby, lemme take care of you.”  
  
  
“I suppose I may as well, since not all of us were lucky enough to get a Jim Kirk-lapdance.”  
  
  
“You know, by  _your_  reasonin', sugar-lips,  _I_  should be jealous of the Russian love-machine. And of those kiss-happy skanks you mentioned. . . .”  
  
  
“Never. You  _never_  have to be jealous. Of anyone.” Hikaru turns over in Lens arms and smiles at him, not so much in an effort to recapture the joking tone of a few seconds ago, but to reassure. To promise. And it works, because Len's face, caught in a brooding scowl despite the teasing tone, lightens. He even cracks a smile of his own. Noting the absence of healed cuts or abrasions--any Leave where Hikaru doesn't have to be kept from killing Kirk for getting Len bruised or bloodied is a damned good one--he leans in and kisses Len's forehead, then his lips. “My  _boyfriend_  better watch out, though. I might just get rid of  _him_ , and keep  _you_.”  
  
  
“Damn. Sucks to be  _that_  poor sonuvabitch,” Len whispers on his lips, them pulls him close, kissing him hard. Hikaru rocks and maneuvers until Len's on top of him, settling between legs Hikaru's long since opened. “Mm, baby, we don't have to, if you're tired. I really didn't mean to wake you. Hell, you were sleepin' so deeply when I came in, I figured you needed the rest.”  
  
  
Hikaru arches up and grinds against Len till his eyes close and he starts grinding back. “Not as much as I need this.”  
  
  
Len grins, and sucks and bites a huge hickey on Hikaru's collarbone. Leaves a stinging, delightful, sensitive trail of them down to Hikaru's cock, which he licks and nuzzles, before closing his lips around the tip.  
  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Hikaru breathes, glad for Len's restraining hands on his hips, or else he'd be shoving himself down Len's throat. “You have the most amazing mouth. . . .”  
  
  
Len hums his agreement, which whites out reality for a few seconds as his body tries to come and can't, because Len's prescient when it comes to Hikaru, well, coming. He clamps down firmly on the base of Hikaru's cock and backs off for a few minutes, till Hikaru's no longer fighting off his orgasm, but cursing Len for not letting him have it.  
  
  
“You're damned wound up. For you, anyway,” Len notes, but it's really a question. One that Hikaru opens his eyes to answer. Len's laying between his legs, watching him worriedly. “What's up?”  
  
  
It's the closest Len'll ever get to asking  _sweetheart, what's wrong?_  At first, that'd bothered Hikaru, but now, he likes that if he doesn't take Len up on his offer of an ear, Len'll back off, and not bug him about whatever it is. In his own gruff way, he's the most considerate and sensitive boyfriend Hikaru's ever had. And Hikaru never takes that offer of an ear less than seriously, and is  _never_  less than grateful for it.  
  
  
“Pavel knows about us. That we're . . . you know.  _I_  didn't tell him,” he's quick to add, though without any prompting from Len's expression. Except for when he's angry or annoyed, his face can be incredibly hard to read. “He guessed all by himself. I would never have said anything without talking it over with you, first, and--um . . . yeah.”  
  
  
Hikaru bites his lip to keep from babbling. Catalogs features that are still a mystery to him sometimes . . . sharp, _proud_ features. Wide, space-dark eyes and a square, heroic jaw. Len is a handsome man, and the character that shines through those good looks only enhances them. Makes Hikaru's breath catch and stutter whenever Len enters a room, or even just looks up at him.  
  
  
Like he's doing now.  
  
  
“Huh,” Len says, frowning a little. Thoughtfully, but not unhappily, Hikaru thinks. He wants to kiss the furrow between Len's brows till it smooths. “And he's just guessing  _now_? Christ, for a Russian whiz-kid, he's awful slow on the uptake. Jim figured it out about seven months ago.”  
  
  
“Well, he says he's known for awhile.” Hikaru feels obliged to defend both Pavel's observational and critical thinking skills. “Wait—Kirk knows about us?”  
  
  
Len nods. “Since the day after we first had sex, Jim accused me of havin'  _sex-glow_. I denied it, and he didn't buy that denial for a second. Then he saw us havin' lunch together one day, 'bout five weeks in, and . . . he confronted me about it later. I knew he'd keep badgerin' me, maybe even start badgerin' you, if I didn't come clean. So, I made him swear on the Enterprise that he wouldn't tell a soul, and that he wouldn't bring it up around you. He can be kind of a pest, sometimes.”  
  
  
Which is an understatement. Not that Hikaru dislikes Kirk—that'd be impossible. But he doesn't want Kirk anywhere near his sex-life. And that includes his boyfriend's lap. “That's . . . I had no idea he could keep a secret that well. Especially—I mean, he's cool with . . . us, right?”  
  
  
“Jim? Yeah. He was thrilled. He  _loves_  you—you saved his life, Hikaru,” Len reminds him, and Hikaru shivers.  
  
  
"And then he saved mine. We canceled each other out." He hates remembering being on the drill platform. Hates to remember just how far there is to fall when you fly high. He still has nightmares about it, about falling, about burning, about Vulcan rushing up toward him . . . and the only thing worse than those nightmares is the look on Len's face when he can't comfort him.  
  
  
Some nights, not often, he has to hypo Hikaru to keep him from having a panic attack.  
  
  
“Pavel's . . . he's okay with it, too.” Hikaru smiles brightly, before Len starts looking worried or reaching for hypos. “He says he's happy for me.”  
  
  
“Huh,” Len says again, and the restraining hand starts an agonizingly slow stroke that Hikaru moans, and arches up into. “What else did the whiz-kid say?”  
  
  
“Unh . . . he said . . . you're a very lucky man. . . .”  
  
  
A tiny smile that's mostly smirk. “Well. He ain't wrong.”  
  
  
“I'm lucky, too.” Hikaru holds Len's gaze, trying to keep his own as open as he can. “Lucky, and _happy_.”  
  
  
Len's smile is, very briefly, a grin, huge and a little ridiculous. Possibly the best grin Hikaru's ever seen. Then he clears his throat, and looks down at Hikaru's cock. His hand speeds up, and he alternates licks with brushes of his thumb right across the tip, until Hikaru gasps out a warning. Len deep-throats him once, meeting his eyes as he does, then catches Hikaru's release on his tongue and swallows.  
  
  
One last moan and a deep shudder, and Hikaru's done, like a limp bag of laundry, sprawled on the bed and seeing stars while Len tortuously licks him clean. He then licks his way up to Hikaru's chin, planting a big kiss there, and Hikaru's arms wrap around him.  
  
  
Len settles on top of him carefully. He's still hard in all the right places. “So, we're not keepin' this close, anymore, I take it? You and me bein' together, I mean.”  
  
  
Hikaru lifts eyelids that weigh a thousand pounds each, and when he does he gets a come-flavored kiss that's sloppy, tongue-y, and easily the best he's had all night.  
  
  
“I thought you wanted it that way,” he admits when Len lets him up for a quick breath. Dark, intent eyes take up Hikaru's reality. “You're so . . . private about everything, I just figured you'd be the same way about, you know. Us.”  
  
  
“Well. I was, at first. I didn't want other people weighin' in on us, and wreckin' what we had before we even had it. Didn't wanna share  _us_  with anyone. But now. . . .” Len sighs and leans his forehead against Hikaru's for a few moments.  
  
  
“Now?” Hikaru runs his hands through Len's shower-damp hair. Tugs a bit till Len looks at him again, smiling a little, too ironically for sheepishness.  
  
  
“Now, I want everyone in the galaxy—everyone on this damn  _boat_ , not just Jim Kirk, and Pavel-goddamn-Chekov to know just how lucky this ol' boy is.”  
  
  
“Wow, that's--” practically a declaration of eternal love, from Len. Not that Hikaru's indiscreet enough to  _say_  so aloud. “You're . . .  _so_  about to get luckier, Leonard McCoy,” Hikaru breathes, and kisses Len long and hard, holding him tight with arms and legs, moaning as Len's hard, hot cock slides against his own. So soon after coming, he's still sensitive, and the contact is deliciously discomfiting. “C'mon, I want you in me  _now_.”  
  
  
“Don't have to tell  _me_  twice.” Len's on his knees and flipping Hikaru over without preamble or dilly-dallying. He's shoved a pillow under Hikaru's pelvis and is rooting around in his night table—practically  _theirs_ , since almost all of Hikaru's stuff now resides in the CMO's quarters, the result of an eight month-long item-by-item migration that neither of them had noticed—for lube, presumably. Hikaru pillows his head on his hands and closes his eyes.  
  
  
“Top drawer--”  
  
  
“Well, I know  _that_ \--”  
  
  
“--under the Fandee mask and behind the Rubik's cube.”  
  
  
“Lord above, you're a goddamn pack-rat. Why in hell're we keepin' a  _solved_  Rubik's cu—aha!” A decidedly evil laugh, then the drawer slams shut, and Len's front is grinding down teasingly against Hikaru's back. “Thanks, darlin'.” He kisses Hikaru's earlobe.  
  
  
“Mm _hm_ , anytime.” Hikaru spreads his legs wide. There was a time this kind of display would've turned him all kinds of red, but now . . . experience has proved to him that however ridiculous he may look,  _Len_  thinks he looks sexy. “But you know I only except thanks in the form of sexual favors. At least from you.”  
  
  
“At least and  _only_  from me.” Another trail of hickies, from Hikaru's nape to his ass—which Len bites, the left cheek, but not too hard. And Hikaru's waiting for the sound of the lube being opened, and the first, chilly, wet kiss of Len's finger at his entrance when something just as wet but a lot warmer draws a wavering, happy moan from him.  
  
  
The first licks are teasing, barely-there, despite Hikaru's reaction. Then they're broad, rasping swipes that have Hikaru getting hard again, and seeking nonexistent friction in Len's Fleet-blue sheets—has him begging shamelessly to be fucked. When Len's tongue finally,  _finally_  breaches him, however, he's in no state to even beg. He simply moans and squirms, held mostly in place by Len's strong hands.  
  
  
By the time Len's lube-wet fingers replace his tongue, Hikaru's shaking and trying not to come, but it's one of a few fights he's certain to lose.  
  
  
“ _Hurry_ ,” he moans, and Len swears, forgoing a third finger to line himself up. There are no words as Len pushes in with a quick, but shallow thrust. His lube-y hands grasp Hikaru's hips tight enough to bruise as he wages his own battle not to come.  
  
  
“Goddamn, baby . . . you feel . . . fuck, are you alright. . . ?”  
  
  
“Be . . . better if you'd . . .  _fuck me_ , already--ow! Jerk!” Hikaru's exclaims when Len smacks his ass  _hard_. But Len knows Hikaru's kinks well enough to know when to ignore him. Gives him a few more good smacks before pulling out a little and thrusting right back in, a little harder, a little deeper. Thrust, pull out, repeat, until Len's in as deep as he can go, and Hikaru's struggling to get to his hands and knees, to meet each thrust forward with a thrust back.  
  
  
It's a familiar dance that time and frequency have somehow made better, have increased Hikaru's need for.  
  
  
_How did I ever live without this? Without_  Len? he wonders, gazing unseeingly at his trembling arms. Len's rocking into him, slowly, evenly, despite the urgency they both feel. He reaches around for Hikaru's cock.  
  
  
“Love to hear to hear you talk, your voice is so fuckin' sexy,” Len croons while he strokes. That perfect, even rhythm slips into something a little faster, a little less neat. “ _Talk_  to me, tell me how much you need this. Tell me, baby, c'mon. . . .”  
  
  
Which is all the invitation Hikaru needs to say the things he's always said, and some things he's _never_  said, despite having felt them for months. “Need you so much, need you in me so deep I can't breath, need to  _feel_  you, God, Len, I love you, I love you, oh, fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ \--”  
  
  
And that's all Hikaru says, all he  _is_ , until he can't come anymore. But instead of coming, too, and letting them both collapse to the bed, Len pulls them both up, and back into a sitting position, so Hikaru's straddling his lap.  
  
  
“Jesus, you're beautiful,” he groans, repeatedly bucking up fast and hard, gravity and Hikaru's own weight forcing Len deeper and harder. “So beautiful.”  
  
  
Hikaru puts shaking, temporarily rubbery hands on the arms circling his waist and squeezes as tight as he can. Lets his head roll back onto Len's shoulder, and looks up into his bright, unguarded eyes.  
  
  
“Love you,” he whispers, and Len freezes, his eyes closing tight . . . then his hands clamp down on Hikaru's hips vise-tight, holding him still. He thrusts up hard enough that Hikaru moans, caught between pain and pleasure so sharp and bright, he can't tell where ones leaves off and the other begins. One arm makes it's way up to Hikaru's shoulders, and hugs him close. The other circles his waist again, briefly, before Len's hand drops to Hikaru's lap and strokes him. After coming two times in rapid succession, his body's not having any of a third and he squirms away from Len's touch. “Please, don't, God, too much--”  
  
  
Len comes with a shout, and a wash of heat that makes Hikaru wish he  _could_  come again. Instead, he bears down on Len's cock as hard as he can, wringing from the man and the act every last bit of pleasure he can. . . .  
  
  
Afterwards, Len kisses him—tries to, and misses, what with both their eyes still being closed. But eventually he gets there. They kiss till their heart-rates have slowed, the sweat on their bodies has cooled, and the very last of the aftershocks have faded into a calm, satisfied silence. And despite the discomfort of not only the position, but of having a half-hard cock still in him—and Hikaru knows that even if Len pulled out right now, he'd still be barely able to walk in the morning without a hypo--he's drifting off in Len's arms.  
  
  
“ _Lights at fifteen percent_. Well, darlin',” Len rumbles hoarsely, and Hikaru doesn't have to open his eyes to see that raised eyebrow and self-congratulatory smirk. "Whaddaya think: better than gettin' pawed at by strange skanks?"  
  
  
"Hmm, dunno . . . I'll have to sleep on it, and let you know in the morning."  
  
  
After a startled bark of a laugh, Len smacks Hikaru's thigh hard enough to elicit a whiny, petulant  _ow!_  “Now, who says I'm gonna let you sleep?”  
  



End file.
